


For the First Time

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, NSFW, a millisecond of angst, soft and also explicit AF, soft h-word, you know what i mean?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: Smut based off of the line "I feel things when I'm with you."It's sweet like sugar and explicit AF at the same time, and I don't know what else to say about it.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 141





	For the First Time

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think via comments.
> 
> I feel like you should eat something sweet while reading this... Mochi or something, you know? It's just the vibe.
> 
> ...I'm gonna stop typing before this beginning note becomes a whole blog post. ENJOY :) xo

“What now?” Villanelle asks. And she is deflecting; she already knows what’s going to happen, based on how she pulled Eve into her own bed and husked, “ _touch me, Eve._ ” Eve, then, delicately pulled off all of her clothing and placed it into a little pile on the floor.

“I’m gonna touch you,” Eve says while kneeling over her, eyes trailing everywhere. She kisses Villanelle and runs her hand over the expanse of Villanelle’s arm, in the process. She notes how Villanelle shivers, how her cheeks flush light pink.

Villanelle lets out a breath and urges herself to keep still.

Eve presses kisses in a straight line. Down, down, and further down, still. At the juncture of her collarbone, in between her breasts, on her stomach. And she can feel how Villanelle holds her breath at each one, and she sees how Villanelle starts out by watching but quickly closes her eyes and twists the bedsheet into her fists.

Villanelle allows her legs to fall open. She’s waited so long for this; she knows she must.

Eve’s hand explores the soft expanse of ivory skin. She brushes against Villanelle’s inner thighs, then over her pubic bone. She is gentle, sweet, thoughtful.

Villanelle opens her eyes and looks, finally. Eve sits at her feet. Eve looks at her—at all of her. It’s _Eve_. Eve, in her jacket and her black trousers. Villanelle squeals with a drawn on “ _Ahh!_ ” when Eve’s thumb tests the waters.

And Eve isn’t expecting Villanelle’s loud cry; she gasps. She tries to brush her thumb more softly over Villanelle’s clit, and when that doesn’t help, she tries to brush her thumb more surely . . . it doesn’t make a difference; both elicit high-pitched wailing sounds from the younger woman.

Villanelle, she could cry. The corners of her eyes are already damp. She feels Eve’s thumb—she feels it _everywhere_. And she still can’t believe that it’s _Eve_ , but she doesn’t have time to ponder it. Not while her legs twitch and her hands fall together, over her stomach, protectively. And she turns her head to the side and mewls and pants.

Eve keeps trying, even gets flustered and asks, “You okay?” And she tries more pressure . . . less pressure . . . somewhere else, maybe. Down and then back up again. And she’s gentle. She’s confused. She’s alarmed; worried. Her other hand comes up to Villanelle’s thigh. And it’s meant to soothe, really. She places it there, securely, and Villanelle cries out loudly, then.

“ _HAHH!_ ,” she pants. By the time Eve delivers one more tiny circle to her nerve endings, she’s giggling and shaking, and she doesn’t think, doesn’t catch herself. That is, her arm moves downward and she covers her center with her own hand. And she breathes deeply like she’s praying for some type of grounding force to calm her.

When Eve’s hand is pushed out of the way, and when Villanelle firmly grabs and protects her own self, a knife sinks into Eve’s chest.

Why do all of the other girls get to touch Villanelle, but she can’t? Is this meant to be funny? Why did Villanelle seduce her? Villanelle and her prowess and her strong, dominant energy. Villanelle, who has a lot of sex and the audacity to talk about it with Eve, and then to put herself in Eve’s hands, only to wriggle away and cover herself.

_It’s bullshit_ , Eve thinks, and she stands up and unceremoniously wipes her hand on her trousers. And she already knows that her anger conceals a deep-rooted sadness. And she thinks this will scar her for a long time, that Villanelle will touch and be touched by _anyone_ but her. She recalls that nobody has ever recoiled from her touches, before. She thought that she was good at this; she thought that people liked her gentle, yet sure hands.

“Why won’t you touch me?” Villanelle asks, sitting up. And worry is strewn on her face as _Eve—Eve Polastri—_ heads for the door. And she feels so unwanted and unloved, suddenly. Nobody has ever stopped touching her, before; not till she comes, at least. A lot of people climb into her arms or down between her legs. They want to be there. And it seemed like Eve wanted her, just the same, till she suddenly got up and left. Truthfully, Villanelle craves Eve’s touch; she has never wanted anything more.

“Why won’t you _let_ me?” Eve asks with a scratchy voice. God, it hurts. It hurts when someone says they want to be touched but then covers their body like they don’t.

Villanelle catches up to her and grabs at her arm, and her hands find the tough fabric of Eve’s coat. “I _was_ letting you,” she pleads. She feels so naked and she has never—will never again—beg someone to touch her, like this. But she has to try; she can’t let Eve leave, after everything. Not without pleading.

“It didn’t seem that way,” Eve says, distantly. She looks at the floor but doesn’t free her arm from Villanelle’s grasp. She wouldn’t remove Villanelle’s hands from herself in any universe, she thinks.

“It’s not—you don’t—I—” Villanelle stammers, realizing she needs to say everything. And she thinks this is the most vulnerable she could ever be in her life, talking about this. “You don’t understand. Please listen to me!” Villanelle begs. She squeezes at Eve’s arm.

Eve turns towards her, then. She looks Villanelle in the eye, and her face is painted with fear. Why would Villanelle invite Eve over and encourage Eve to undress her, piece by piece? For the first time, Villanelle has made her question if she is good enough.

“It feels different,” Villanelle breathes. And she can hardly look into Eve’s eyes. All of her skin crawls with anxiety.

“What feels different?” Eve asks.

“It feels different when _you_ touch me. When it’s your hands,” she responds.

“Oh,” Eve says. She bites her lip in hope that it’ll keep her from crying. “Is it bad?” she asks, and it’s just a whisper.

“No!” Villanelle gasps, eyes wide. She doesn’t know what to do with her own hands, but she doesn’t want to let go of Eve. She doesn’t want Eve to slip away. “No, Eve. It’s good!” she says.

“I don’t understand,” Eve says. “If it’s good, why were you struggling? Why did you push my hand away?” Eve wonders if she was too firm or too gentle, or if something else about her approach was just _wrong_.

Villanelle hopes that Eve will understand what she’s saying. “Eve,” she tries, “when it’s your hands, I feel _everything_.” She squeezes Eve’s arm again because she doesn’t know what else to do. “It’s like I’m not . . . _numb_.”

Eve just nods, listening.

“It’s like I can feel every single thing.” And then, “For the first time!” Villanelle wails. “It’s like I feel everything for the first time!”

“Oh!” Eve breathes. Her worries begin to fade. “You feel more when I touch you than when other people do?” And god, she hopes she’s right, otherwise that would be a bold assumption.

“Yes, Eve! More than when anyone else touches me, and more—th—when—” she struggles because she can’t believe it’s true. She sighs. “And more than when _I_ touch myself,” Villanelle whispers. “I feel everything.”

_I feel things when I’m with you_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eve says, and she caresses Villanelle’s shoulder with her free hand. “Does it feel good? Do you like feeling it . . . for the first time?” she asks with fascination.

“Yes, it feels so good!” Villanelle explains. She leans herself closer to Eve and then whispers, “I need to . . . c-come.” She looks down while she speaks, then meets Eve’s eyes, again.

Eve can’t help herself from exclaiming, “ _Oh my god_ ,” and then she understands Villanelle perfectly. “Because it’ll be . . .”

“. . . It’ll be like the first time,” Villanelle finishes.

They stare at each other. Eve can’t believe Villanelle is requesting (out loud) to be brought to orgasm, and Villanelle can’t believe that Eve could give her one—a real, undiminished one.

“Come here,” Eve says, and her heart pounds in her chest at the thought of being Villanelle’s first. She pulls Villanelle against herself and kisses her, deep and long. And one hand holds Villanelle securely, at her hip, and the other one journeys up to Villanelle’s cheek and then down, over her arm, and then everywhere. The familiar trail, between her breasts and down to her stomach. Eve explores her and tastes the inside of her mouth, and this time, she doesn’t feel uneasy when Villanelle shivers under her touch and whimpers into the kisses.

Eve reaches behind Villanelle’s back and gathers all of the soft, golden hair into her hand. And she speaks against the shell of Villanelle’s ear. “ _I want to . . ._ ” she says, “ _. . . make you come_ ,” she clarifies. And then she instinctively licks Villanelle’s ear and pulls back, absorbing the sight of Villanelle’s flushed cheeks. She guides Villanelle back onto the bed.

Eve is sweet, then, reconciling her prior perception of Villanelle (a powerful, dominant sex goddess) with the Villanelle that lies beneath her (a delicate, sensitive woman).

She starts by latching onto one of Villanelle’s nipples, only taking a break to ask, “That feel good?”

“Yes!” Villanelle breathes, and she loosely holds onto Eve’s head with both arms.

Eve sucks and flicks, and her other hand teases the other side of Villanelle’s chest.

“So pretty,” Eve sighs, when she lifts her head, again.

Even that sends a shudder through Villanelle. Villanelle finds herself squirming beneath Eve’s hands, even while nothing is happening.

“Let’s try again.” Eve presses a kiss into her stomach. “You ready?” she asks.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Villanelle whispers, sounding pained. And she decides to sit up on her elbows so she can see everything. She grips the sheets with anticipation.

Eve finds that Villanelle’s thighs are shiny with arousal, and she isn’t sure which part of things made her so wet.

Eve tastes it from the inside of Villanelle’s leg with one, wide swipe. “Tell me to stop if anything becomes too much,” she instructs.

Villanelle nods, but her head falls back when Eve replaces her thumb and repeats the gentle circles she was making, prior. Her breathing hitches with little grunting sounds.

Eve thrums against her clit, up and down and up and down, and she interprets Villanelle’s cries as a reward, this time, instead of a punishment. She can’t stop herself from offering sweet words. “Baby,” she sighs, “that feel good?” And the little whine that accompanies Villanelle’s nod makes Eve’s heart leap.

Villanelle becomes too slick for fingers, so Eve dips her head between Villanelle’s thighs and quickly comes to appreciate the scent. She gives an experimental swipe of her tongue and feels Villanelle buck against her mouth.

“Stay still,” Eve requests, gently, and she presses Villanelle’s hips downward, seating her on the mattress.

Eve explores her fully, then, cleaning the sticky mess Villanelle made of herself when they kissed. She hums while her tongue travels and then whines when she lands on Villanelle’s clit, imagining how it feels and knowing that Villanelle is experiencing it fully, now. She kisses it, sucks it into her mouth, then laps her tongue up and down and around.

Villanelle cries and moans and babbles parts of words, and her hips roll, a bit, but she keeps herself down against the mattress.

Eventually, Eve finds that Villanelle is doing well to keep herself still and accept the stimulation that’s offered, so Eve presses her index finger inside. And she starts slow, but—

—Villanelle wails loudly on some variation of “ _oh!_ ” and bucks her hips.

“Too much?” Eve asks.

“ _More! M-More!_ ” Villanelle begs.

Eve obliges, offering the whole of her finger and plunging it in and out, a few times, before curling it upward. She hears sounds escape Villanelle’s throat that she could never have imagined.

“ _Oh my god, sweetie_ ,” Eve finds herself saying. And then, “ _So sensitive for me_.”

She licks Villanelle’s clit, more, keeping it dewy.

Villanelle feels herself accepting the finger that beckons inside. She knows that soon enough, everything will tighten. And she’ll clamp around Eve and Eve will feel her throbbing.

“ _Eve—I—I’m—Eve! Please!”_ Villanelle cries.

Eve moans without meaning to and rushes out, “Go ‘head and come!” And she replaces her tongue as quickly as she can.

Villanelle comes as Eve’s tongue nestles against her clit, and she rolls her hips a few times before stilling completely. Her cries turn to soft whimpers and she eventually falls back against the mattress. Her heart pounds at a pace that feels out of her control, and her eyes close on their own.

Eve slips her finger out of Villanelle and tastes it, immediately, and then she climbs her way back up Villanelle’s body and presses a kiss to Villanelle’s cheek.

Villanelle’s eyes flutter open and then close, again.

Eve quickly decides to lie herself down and pulls Villanelle on top of her. She takes it a step further, holding both of Villanelle’s hands, intertwining all of their fingers.

“How did it feel?” she whispers. Eve watches as Villanelle’s forehead comes to rest against her own and wonders how it’s even possible that she’s a cold-blooded killer.

“So good, Eve,” Villanelle replies, tired and worn-down.

Eve just hums, realizing that that’s the only way to describe an orgasm. And she appreciates how Villanelle is all soft, now, with her golden hair strewn everywhere and her cheeks still pinkish.

Villanelle scoots down a little and lays her head against Eve’s chest. And she feels sorry for pulling her hands back, but then Eve’s arms circle around her back, and she thinks she could really fall asleep like this.

“I want to make you come,” Villanelle says with her eyes closed.

Eve runs her hands over Villanelle’s back and reflects on those times in the kitchen when Villanelle seemed dominant and threatening, holding a knife to her chest. She imagined Villanelle saying something like this, sure, but she always expected Villanelle to be daunting and suggestive about it. In reality, Villanelle is naked and lays slack against Eve’s coat, like a sleeping child.

“Maybe when you wake up,” Eve responds with a giggle. And then she’s holding Villanelle close and secure, whispering sweet names and saying “shhh” and soothing her into post-coital sleep.


End file.
